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.. this poem is all by its lone -some self, some semblance of assem -bled phrases on a shelf. in a void. annoyed. this poem is a single sigh -lent scream, a scene from a one -act play with no … Continue reading
.. she’s doing it again; layering her skin with doubt and promise, polishing the way she says I’m fine when she means to scream. she’s counting all the clicks and the tics and the tocks and the way that the … Continue reading
.. They say she is dying. We listen with wrenched hands, tightening lips. The clock on the wall ticks, clicks its way into our worn brains, as if we don’t already feel its dwindling voice in our own heartbeats. Staccato … Continue reading
.. Does she long to shed her weary skin, sink within the caverned veins of silence? Does our violence make her sigh, pine to gather her pleated skirt hills and walk out on us? Can we heal her, feel her … Continue reading
.. she’s an imp -ossible combination of phrase and space, kerning herself around the moon, an i am -bic pen. a wren. a crow contemplating murder, a murmuring swallow, a hum -ming bird following its own bright tail. sand is … Continue reading